


Fool Me Once

by Raccoonfg



Category: Zootopia (2016)
Genre: Coyote - Freeform, Fables - Freeform, Folklore, Gen, Mythology References, Original Mythology, Riddles, Trickster Gods, Tricksters, myth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-24
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-09-01 23:01:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8641576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raccoonfg/pseuds/Raccoonfg
Summary: Having arrested a coyote for petty theft, Judy learns a valuable lesson in trusting tricksters.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The following short story was written for /trash/'s Thematic Thursday event; Fantasy/Mythos (11/24/16)

“You know, I really must say that’s a very lovely pen you have there.”

“Mmhm,” Judy did her best to ignore him as she went over the standard arrest forms.

“I mean, a pen and a personal recorder, all in one? Plus it’s shaped like your favorite food? Now that is really something.”

“You can flatter our choices in stationery all you want, sir,” Nick apathetically stated from his seat next to Judy. “It’s not going to convince us to drop the shoplifting charges.”

“What?” The handcuffed coyote pressed his paws to his chest in a thinly sincere gesture of shock. “Why no. Not at all, officer. I would never-- never try to obstruct our valued system of due process.” Rolling his eyes and pouting his lips, he murmured under his breath “I was only trying to be polite.”

“Well if you respect due process so much,” Judy grumbled, angrily tapping her pen against the clipboard held in her paw, “why don’t you politely give us your name?”

“My name?”

“Yes. Your name.”

“And why would you need that?”

The only answer he got was a deep, seething glare from Nick and Judy.

“Only curious.”

“Because, sir, we usually need something to fill in these little boxes here,” Nick patronizingly growled, planting a claw onto Judy’s forms. “That way the jailer can get your room service orders correct. You wouldn’t want to get someone else’s lunch, right?”

“…And you need that from me?”

Finally losing his cool, Nick slammed the top of the desk and snarled “well we can’t get it off your ID, seeing as how you have no wallet!”

The coyote shrugged and held up his paws in appeasement. Not a hint of surprise or concern cracked the surface of his smile in the face of Nick’s outburst.

“You see, that’s the cause of this whole problem, officer,’ the coyote chuckled, shaking his head. “I foolishly left it at home, and when I tried to explain to the good shopkeeper that I was more than prepared to reward his good faith and repay the cost of the goods, with interest, if he simply allowed me to take everything home first and return the next day with my wallet in paw… Well.” He then shook his wrists, jingling his paw-cuffs for emphasis, and pointed at Nick and Judy. “That’s when he decided to get the both of you involved. And honestly, I think we can all agree that what he really chose to do was waste our time.”

“Unbelievable,” Nick snorted.

“Good intentions or not, you still tried to leave with the store’s property even after they turned you down, and that’s against the law.” Judy once again poised her pen at the name field on the form and raised her eyebrows. “So please, if you think this is wasting your time, how about we move things along and you give us your name?”

Quietly, the coyote leaned back in his chair and glanced between the two of them; an unexpected look of thoughtfulness hung heavy on his brow.

“Well,” he finally said in a humorless tone, “that would be a complicated manner, as my friends know me by many names, some that even go back--”

“Just one,” Nick groaned. “Just the one you got from your parents, alright?”

“Isilly. Mica Isilly.”

“Finally,” Judy breathed with relief, scribbling down Mica’s name.

“I wouldn’t go wasting that ink just yet, Carrots,” Nick warned. “Something seems ‘silly’ about it.”

“Officer, you wound me,” Mica objected with a stern face. “You asked for my name; very rudely I may add; and I gave it to you. A name is something not to be given carelessly.” He then folded his arms and cocked his snout upwards in disgust. “I would think that a fox such as yourself would understand this more than anyone.”

“Is that a fact?” Nick asked incredulously.

“It is. After all,” Mica leaned in closely; a subtle smirk grew on his lips, “your greatest ancestor once found himself in a bind after making such a mistake.”

Judy furrowed her brow and wrinkled her nose. “You know Nick’s great grandfather?”

“What?” Nick’s voice cracked at his partner’s naive confusion. “No he doesn’t!”

Mica’s smile became more smug; his paws pressed against each other with thumbs jutting upwards. “I speak of the greatest of grandfathers to all foxes.”

Nick could only sigh. “Oh here we go…”

“Long ago,” Mica began, “there was once a fox who was considered the most cunning and clever of his ilk. A fox to out-fox the rest. But nearly greater than his guile was his pride.”

“You’re honestly not going to just start telling children’s fables now, are you?”

“Shh,” Judy waved her paw to shush Nick, causing her partner to gape at her in shock.

“Seriously?!”

“Yes, he was a prideful fox,” Mica continued; unfazed by Nick’s objections. “And he had much to be proud of. Beyond his wits, he had smooth, bright red fur like burning silk, and eyes that gleamed like gold. Ears!” Mica raised his paws high above his head, flapping them over his scalp. “Ears that darted skyward and could hear for miles! And a tail.” Lowering his paws back down to nose level, he clapped them together and wiggled them like a fish fin. “A tail that swished and danced about beautifully as he gracefully trotted through the forest. But most of all…”

Mica trailed off and leaned in close to Judy.

“Most of all was his name. A name so regal and fine, that he fell in love with it the day he learned to speak. No vixen could ever compare with the truest love that he had for his name.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Nick huffed and craned his head back in indifference. “The fox called--”

“Shh!”

Nick tilted his head back down at Judy and glared at her.

“Well, well.” Mica openly chuckled at the dissonance between the two partners. “I see this young rabbit is entranced by the allure of our hero’s name. You know, young bunny,” the coyote smoothly cooed; flashing his eyes at Judy, “there was once a rabbit who was also very interested in this particular fox’s name. You see, some names, particularly ones as majestic as his, can hold power over their owners. And this rabbit knew that fact very well.”

Reclining back in his seat, Mica held his paws out in front of his chest, separated as far as the cuffs would allow him. One paw he turned over and contorted his fingers into the crude figure of a rabbit.

“He knew that if he was to steal the fox’s name and make him his servant, then he would have an edge over all of his rabbit brethren. Why, with a big strong fox like him at his beck and call, he could gather food for the winter more quickly than any of his kin. Or, better yet, he could just have the fox do all the work for him, and the rabbit could just lay back and get fat.”

“Hey!” Judy pouted. “There’s no such thing as a lazy bunny!”

Mica ignored her objection, and twisted his other paw into the shape of a fox. “So it was one day that he saw our friend the fox cantering through the woods, and the rabbit decided to put his plan into action. To catch the fox, he would have to ensnare his--”

“Pride!” Judy beamed.

“Yes,” Mica grinned, bringing the fox-paw and rabbit-paw closer together. “His pride. So running ahead of the fox, the rabbit flopped to the middle of the path in a heap, and started to weep.”

“‘Oooh!’ cried the rabbit. ‘Oooh, woe is me!’” Mica bent and jerked his wrist, making the rabbit-paw shudder in sadness.

“‘Here, what’s this? Why all the crying?’ asked our fox.” The fox-paw dipped forward, inquisitively at the rabbit-paw.

“‘Oooh, woe!’ the rabbit carried on.”

“‘Now see here, you’re making a wet mess of yourself, Mister Rabbit’ the fox chastised him. ‘Stop this wailing at once and tell me what the matter is!’”

“‘I am sorry, Master Fox, but you see, I’ve been left with a horrible fate that I simply cannot bear any longer.’”

“The fox was rather curious about what could possibly reduce a rabbit to such tears, so he pressed him. ‘What fate, Mister Rabbit?’”

“‘My name,’ the rabbit replied.”

“‘Your name?’”

“‘Yes. You see, I was born with such a foolish name, that I cannot stand it any longer.’”

“The fox was intrigued. A name that made one gnash their buck teeth in misery? ‘And what is your name?’ he asked.”

“‘Promise not to laugh?’”

“‘Of course!’ promised the fox.’”

“‘It is rather foolish.’”

“‘I promise.’”

“‘I’m certain yours is much finer than mine.’”

“‘Poppycock!’ the fox lied, knowing he already had the better name.”

“‘Alright,’ the rabbit relented. ‘It’s Mud.’”

“The fox did his best to contain himself, but he still tittered behind his cracking smile. ‘Surely you’re not serious.’”

“‘No,’ solemnly replied the rabbit, ‘I am not… It’s Dim.’”

“The fox’s lips had curled back at this, and uncontrollable fits of giggling hissed through his fangs. ‘Y-you’re putting me on. A jape!’”

“‘Yes,’ sighed the rabbit, hanging his head low. ‘Honestly. Truthfully. My name is… Is… Rump.’”

“Unable to contain his mirth at such a silly hare, the fox dropped to his back and rolled around in the dirt, cackling madly at the sky. ‘Rump! Rump! Such a silly name for a rabbit! Rump!’”

“The rabbit stomped his foot and pouted at the fox. ‘You promised,’ he whined. ‘You promised you wouldn’t laugh, and how dare you?! Why I bet your name isn’t any better than mine!’”

“‘Yes it is,’ the fox replied, grinning up at the rabbit.”

“‘No it isn’t! You lie! You are no better than a liar, and your name is no better than mine!’”

“‘I assure you it is,’ laughed the fox.”

“‘Liar!’”

“‘It’s true, it’s true!’ sung the fox; flopping and twisting his body around until he was back on his feet, dancing gaily before Rump. ‘You say it’s a lie, but it’s true. It’s true! I have a name better than you. A name fit to be sung by a bard. Reynard! Reynard! Reynard!’”

“And like that,” Mica clamped the rabbit-paw over the fox-paw, “Rump the rabbit caught the prideful Reynard in his trap.” After a brief hesitation for dramatic effect, he unclasped his paws and set them back on his lap. His eyebrows were arched, and lips pursed, like he just delivered a profound lecture.

Though Nick reclined his eyeballs so far back in their sockets that he could go blind from exasperation, Judy’s purple peepers were fixated on Mica, with her chin resting in her paws, like she was a child again, listening to Grandpa Hopps’ old war stories and tall tales.

Realizing that she was staring at the coyote with her mouth hanging open, Judy shook her head and finally asked him “so what happened to Reynard?”

“Hm? Oh, well--”

“Every little fox kit knows what happened,” Nick curtly interjected; a complete lack of excitement dangled off his tongue. “Heck, I’m sure you’re just reciting from the same Little Golden Book I had as a boy…”

Nick roughly exhaled and ran a paw through the fur on top his head, turning to Judy. “The rabbit worked him so hard his fur got dirty and dingy, his ears drooped and sagged, and his eyes became dim and sullen. One day he was cleaning the rabbit’s kitchen and got an idea.” He then turned to Mica, who was simply just smiling pleasantly at Nick’s sudden contribution. “He asked the rabbit to take a bet for his freedom; saying that he could drink his own weight in wine. The rabbit thought it was impossible, so he accepted the bet and got a giant set of scales, a cask of wine, and a glass.”

Not believing that he was actually getting involved in this charade, Nick still continued on, rubbing his forehead as he spoke. “Reynard sat on one end of the scale, but then noted it would be impossible to properly weight himself against such a small glass, so he suggested something larger that he could likely fit in, reasoning that if the container was big enough for him, it was big enough to hold enough wine. And so he suggested the large cast-iron cook pot that the rabbit used to boil his carrot stew in.”

“Being a dumb bunny,” Nick said with a playful sneer at Judy, “this made sense to Rump, so he agreed and allowed Reynard to drag the pot onto the other end of the scale. The fox sat back on his end and just as Rump poured barely a thimble-full of wine into the pot, Reynard cried out that he’s poured too much, indicating how the scale was now so heavy on the pot’s end that Reynard was raised above the ground. Before Rump could object, Reynard hopped off the scale and lapped up the small puddle of wine and promptly walked out the door; his binds now released by the sacred agreement of their bet.”

“Is that about right?” Nick asked Mica with annoyance.

The coyote and Judy just stared back at Nick, blinking.

“Great. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be in the break room, drinking my weight in coffee,” Nick grunted as he hopped off his seat and stalked out the office door. “Listen to as many of his bedtime stories as you want, Carrots. Just make sure to finish that arrest form, or else your name is Rump from here on out.”

“Tetchy one, your partner.” Mica turned his attention away from Nick’s departure, and back to Judy.

Judy shrugged as she skimmed over her documents to remember where they left off. “He just doesn’t trust you,” she noted absently.

Mica clumsily folded his arms; tilting his head from side to side like he was weighing out the validity of Nick’s distrust. “Hm. Yes, I’d suppose that’s fair and all.”

“Considering we just arrested you,” Judy added.

“Well, yes. That. And also because the greatest coyote was far craftier than the greatest fox could ever be.”

Judy once again lowered her papers and glanced at Mica; this time mirroring Nick’s expression of doubt.

“I mean,” Mica continued with nonchalance, “old Reynard only had his wits and his good looks to serve him, while the eldest coyote…” He paused and his eyelids lightly sprung up. “Do you believe in magic?”

“Only the kind that’ll make this paperwork disappear,” Judy muttered.

“Well, nothing as mundane as that, but one time old Mister Coyote--”

“I’m really sorry,” she cut him off, “you told a fun story earlier, but I really need to get this done, or neither of us will ever leave this room today.”

“Oh, well it was only going to be a brief one about this one time he made a cloak made for a mouse fit his much larger body-- Ah, but I’m giving away our ending.”

“I’d much rather that you give away your address and contact details so we can do a background check on you.”

“Fine,” Mica sighed, slumping his shoulders in an admittance of defeat. “I can see that you’re the sort who gets what she wants.”

Judy’s mouth turned up in a smug smile; her buck teeth protruding ever so slightly. “Exactly. Now, let’s start with your address.”

“Actually,” Mica leaned in close, “I was thinking we start with setting the rules of our trade.”

“Trade?” Judy’s sense of progress immediately deflated at the word.

“Well yes,” Mica grinned. “One doesn’t give their personal information lightly--”

“You’re under arrest! You have to tell me what I need, it’s the rules!”

“So is asking for a lawyer’s presence, which I imagine may take a while should I ask. Isn’t that so?” Judy’s silence was more than enough encouragement for Mica to continue. “Now, I’d be willing to forego that formality and tell you everything you want to know, lock stock and barrel, if you’d be so kind as to accept my request.”

“And that is..?” Judy asked cautiously.

“Well I have been admiring that lovely pen of yours…”

“Out of the question!” Judy clutched her trademark carrot pen close to her chest. “I got this as a graduation present. I’ve been using it since I joined the force. It has…” She trailed off, looking at it pensively. “Sentimental value.”

“Ah,” Mica nodded knowingly, once again pursing his lips like an educator. “Well if a simple direct trade is too bitter for your palate, then perhaps… A bet?”

“A bet?”

“Yes, a bet of riddles. You win, I tell you anything you ask. I win, I claim your pen and tell you what I like, when I like.”

“Riddles? Are you kidding me?”

“I know, I know,” Mica bobbed his head from side to side. “It’s a fairly one-sided bet that you’d easily trounce me in, you are, after all, an expect police officer and a master of deduction, but I like a challenge.” Mica grinned. “Even when I know I’ll lose anyways.”

Judy sat there, considering his offer. It seemed foolish and pointless. She didn’t need to bet her favorite pen on some silly riddle; she’d eventually get him to talk, one way or another.

But on the other hand, it would speed things up to just humor him.

And she was good at riddles.

“What’re the rules?”

“Very simple. First to be stumped loses, only one guess per riddle, and there must be an answer,” He held up a single finger imperiously. “No false riddles.”

Judy looked down at her pen one more time, and then over at the still unfinished arrest form.

Her decision was made.

“Fine,” she said with a nod of approval, “I’ll go first.”

“By all means,” beamed Mica.

Judy closed her eyes for a few moments and took a breath before speaking.

“I am light as a feather, but the strongest mammal can’t hold me for more than a few minutes, what am I?”

“Breath,” Mica declared confidently. “When I live, you sing, and when I expire you clap.”

“A birthday candle,” Judy chirped. “I weigh nothing, and can be seen by the naked eye. When you put me in a bucket, it gets lighter.”

“A hole. You can make me, play me, and crack me.”

“A joke.” Judy couldn’t help but feel cocksure in how this was going so far. Mica may have been answering them as quickly as she was, but Judy practically knew every riddle ever written. “I always murmur, but never talk. Always run, but never walk. I have a bed, but I never sleep.”

“A river,” Mica answered, and then he reclined back in his chair and kept his mouth firmly shut.

He seemed to be sizing up Judy, which made her equally nervous and undaunted.

Maybe he knew it really was as unwinnable as he said.

Maybe.

“I write,” Mica finally spoke, “but I cannot read. I listen closely, but I never speak for myself.”

Judy smiled and was about to open her mouth in reply when it suddenly hit her.

She had never heard this one before.

Writes and doesn’t read?

Listens and doesn’t speak?

Judy tired to run every possible riddle she knew through her head. Every possible combination. Every possible rewording. And…

Nothing.

Did he just make it up on the spot?

Judy found herself chewing on one of her fingernails and glanced up at Mica, who was silently watching her with the most passive look on his face.

Writes and doesn’t read.

Listens and doesn’t speak.

It could be anything.

It could be nothing.

No. It had to be something; that’s the rules.

Mica’s handcuff chains started to rattle slightly as he tapped his paws together impatiently; one of his eyebrows cocked in anticipation.

She had to make a guess, but she could only guess once, and if it was wrong, she’d lose.

She can’t lose.

Not to him.

Judy was snapped out of her internal struggle by the off-key whistling of Mica, who was tapping one of his feet out of rhythm with the fractured tune.

All sorts of possible answers fluttered about in her mind, but none of them seemed satisfying enough.

And Mica’s incessant distraction of noise grew more stressful; his paws now drumming the desk top in their own independent beat.

Whistling.

Tapping.

Drumming.

“I-I…” Judy felt herself cracking under pressure.

Whist-a-tap-a-drum.

“I, ah…”

A-drum-whist-tap-a.

“I don’t know!” Judy finally broke down; eyes wide with tension.

Mica stopped, and without a word he leaned over and plucked the carrot pen right from Judy’s paw. Holding it high by his finger tips, he waved his other paw over it in demonstration and then tucked it into his shirt pocket.

And then Judy knew the answer.

“But… But that’s not fair!” she cried.

“It’s absolutely fair,” Mica gravely replied. “And now you have neither what you want to know, nor the means of recording it. However…” He patted the pocket holding her pen. “I’m more than willing to play again if you’d like it back.”

“Yes!” Judy practically leapt across the desk in desperation. “Once more. Two out of three!”

“Hmm…” Mica rubbed his chin, putting on an exaggerated display of judgement. “I’ll play once more, but only once. We don’t want to waste each other’s time any more, right?” Seeing the clearly displayed look of conflict on Judy’s face, he followed, “Don’t worry, I won’t make you choose between the pen or my statement as the prize; you may have both. But,” he raised a finger, “you must stake two prizes for me as well.”

“F-fine! Anything,” Judy blurted, not hesitating to consider the consequences.

But Mica had considered them.

Long before the game began.

 

* * *

 

“What’s the good word, Clawhauser?” Nick asked, sipping his piping hot, fresh cup of coffee.

“Oh not much, Nick. Just the usual precinct gab,” Clawhauser then suddenly clapped a paw to his muzzle and gasped, “Ooh! I almost forgot! It looks like Judy’s style is starting to catch on with other officers!”

“Is that a fact?” Nick cocked an eyebrow quizzically.

“Uh huh!” Clawhauser flapped his head rapidly. “Why just before you dropped by, an Officer Sinawava from Sahara Square was leaving, and he was wearing a ZPD body suit just like Judy’s. Which is funny, ‘cause I didn’t think they made them in canine sizes.”

Barely regarding Clawhauser’s pointless tidbit, Nick shrugged and made his way back to the office he shared with Judy. Upon entering, he found two very unusual things missing.

Namely, Judy and Mica Isilly.

Pivoting his head around the room for some sign of where they might have gone, he sat his cup down on the desk, right next to where Judy’s carrot pen laid by its lonesome.

“Nick?” Judy’s voice suddenly called out, with a sound of distress underlying her tone.

“Jude..?” Nick called back and leaned over the desk towards the source of her voice. Slowly the sight of Judy came into view, just at floor level, in a most shocking state.

Sitting there on the floor, naked as the day she was born, was Judy, clutching her half-filled arrest forms to her body as a makeshift means of hiding her shame.

“Judy?!”

“Nick,” Judy replied, with rage in her eyes, “put out an APB! That coyote creep just tricked me out of my uniform!”


End file.
